


There and Back

by SLq



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 23:17:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14223972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLq/pseuds/SLq
Summary: Bakura stared. "Ryou?" he tried.Ryou's smile wobbled. "Welcome back," he said. His cheeks were wet, his eyes red with tears. "You bloody wanker."





	There and Back

**Author's Note:**

> Here, Yami Marik = Malik :)

Bakura was sleeping, sweetly, deeply, as he never had when he still breathed - and then not even in death, tied to the Ring, his soul slipping away grain by grain, sand in an hourglass. But he slept now. He slept and dreamed of things he had forgotten, kindness and happiness ignored for the greed for vengeance. Lotus eyes watched him from every corner, the same pair, the same man. Their regard left Bakura flushed.

The eyes darkened. Amber leeched in blink by blink, and turned the eyes familiar. Bakura shook his head. His own image stared back at him, distorted, soft, the mouth shaping words.

"-mi. Yami. Ya-"

"Shut up," Bakura growled. Was he not to have peace from regret even in the tomb of his own mind?

His double was quiet for a beat. "It's you alright." The voice rushed in from a great distance, the sound swelling, growing more immediate and real with each word.

Bakura stared. "Ryou?" he tried.

Ryou's smile wobbled. "Welcome back," he said. His cheeks were wet, his eyes red with tears. "You bloody wanker."

Bakura had a moment for startled indignation before Ryou drew his hand back and punched him into black.

 

* * *

 

The _second_ time Bakura woke up was a lot less pleasant. His jaw felt swollen, his head throbbing in tune with the staccato snarl of someone's voice. Bakura struggled up. His hands were tied behind his back, but he was experienced with shackles and didn't stagger. He was in a bedroom of the like his host had owned when they had still been one. Pale sheets, pale walls, the whole thing too clean and tidy and cold. 

The voices fell away. Bakura squinted through the glare of sunlight, muscles tense, teeth clenched tight.

"Yadonushi," he sneered.

"Not anymore," Ryou said calmly. He stood by the bed, arms crossed, looking taller and older than Bakura remembered. He'd cut his hair. White curls still crowned his head, but the rest was buzzed close to his skull, mere peach fuzz. Bakura's eyes lingered on the shorn locks. He felt, uncomfortably, as if something of his had been stolen.

"Yes, he seems _perfectly_ rehabilitated."

Bakura glared death at the room's second occupant. Seto Kaiba watched him with the eyes of a vulture, perched primly in the only available chair. Bakura shuffled forward along the mattress on his knees, teeth bared.

Kaiba had a gun leveled at his head before he made it halfway down the bed. "Try me," the man hissed.

Bakura grinned back, and thought of doing just that.

"Oh, for God's sake," Ryou muttered, and stepped between them. Had Bakura not flinched himself, he would've made a comment about the haste with which Kaiba put his toy away.

"I never said he is well," Ryou said. "But he isn't as he once was."

He reached for Bakura as he spoke. The thief leaned back, forgetting his limited mobility, and overbalanced. He stared at the ceiling in stunned rage, flat on his back. The bed shifted. Ryou appeared above him, eyes laughing, arms braced on either side of the thief's prone body.

"He's not a threat," he told Kaiba.

Bakura rolled onto his side and bit Ryou's exposed forearm, for lack of a different way to express his wrath. Ryou's pained hiss was somewhat comforting. Getting wrenched back by his own hair - less so.

"What do you call _this_?" Kaiba snapped. He shook Bakura like one would a misbehaving cur, which didn't make the thief want to bite any less.

"Childish," Ryou dismissed. "He didn't even break the skin."

Kaiba stared at him in disbelief. Ryou arched an eyebrow.

"He used to mutilate me out of _boredom_ ," he reminded.

Kaiba's grip shifted to Bakura's neck. Bakura was aware of the threat, but remotely, the gleam of the desert sun through a sandstorm. Memories scraped at him, to blood, to the bone. The dagger he had slid in Ryou's arm - _his_ arm, _their_ body - a lifetime ago cut him anew. For the sake of the Pharaoh. Always, always the Pharaoh.

Bakura had acted the slave even in vengeance.

Ryou's expression lost some of its unfamiliar rigidity. Bakura read pity in the man's eyes and answered it as he always had in the past - with anger. He kicked at Kaiba, catching the man in a very unfortunate place, and as he fell over cursing, Bakura slammed into Ryou and threw them both off the bed. He landed on top, driving the breath from his host's lungs. Ryou grasped at him, but he was disorientated and Bakura had never been easy to capture. The thief was on his feet and at the door before either man could stop him.

"Try again in a thousand years," Bakura taunted.

The door swung inward. The jibe was punctuated by blood and the crunch of cartilage. Bakura reeled back and hunched over, gritting his teeth against the stabbing pain.

"Bakura?"

Bakura raised his head so quickly the room spun. Stricken eyes caught his - the same eyes that had watched over him in his dreams. "Marik," Bakura heard himself say.

Marik closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Bakura, rocking him back on his heels. "' _ant huna hqaan,_ " he said, voice breaking, and clutched him tight.

Bakura blinked hard. "I'm here," he agreed, and the reality of it all hit him at last. By Ra, he fucking _was_.

Marik pulled back to look at him. His eyes were greedy, his hands large and soft as they cupped Bakura's face. A tentative smile broke over his face, like the sun at dawn.

"You've got a bit of something..." Marik tapped his own nose.

Bakura rolled his eyes. The surge of fond irritation was so familiar he briefly wondered if the tide of time had not flown backwards and taken him along with it, a deadman's pull. But Marik, like Ryou, was not unchanged. He stood as tall as Bakura now. His shoulders were wide and strong, his face cut sharp, jaw and cheekbones pronounced. The beauty of his youth was not lost but transformed, wrought in steel rather than in soft gold. Bakura couldn't tear his eyes away. 

The smile curling Marik's mouth grew smug. "I like the scar," he purred. He traced Bakura's cheek with a finger, slowly, from his right eye down to the corner of his lips. Bakura flicked it with the tip of his tongue.

"I can think of something you'd like more."

A loud clap had them turning, Bakura glaring, Marik slightly flushed. Ryou looked at them with a faintly exasperated air. "I'd hoped we could go at least an hour without someone bleeding."

"What's the fun in that?" Marik drawled.

"Why did you call Ishtar?" Kaiba demanded. He'd put himself back together, but stood stiffly. Bakura smirked at him. Kaiba glared back with pure hatred.

"For his devilish good looks," Ryou snapped, snaring Bakura's attention; when had the weakling grown a backbone? "He is an _Egyptologist_ , Seto, and he just so _happens_ to specialize in the mindfuckery we've been wading through since high school. Who _else_ did you want me to call?"

Kaiba crossed his arms, expression a thunderstorm, but said nothing. Ryou scowled at the room at large. "You," he stabbed a finger at Bakura, "sit down and stop bleeding on my carpet. You," the finger moved to Marik, "keep him from running off."

Ryou stormed out. The bedroom door slammed behind him, hard enough to send a nearby vase rattling.

"Still prone to dramatics, I see," Bakura said in the silence that followed.

"He's handling it pretty well, all things considered," Marik said. Something was off about his tone. Bakura caught Marik's eyes; the tomb keeper shook his head, the gesture minute.

Bakura let himself be guided to the bed, and sat. Marik knelt at his feet. He checked Bakura's pulse and tilted his head back to look into his eyes. "Did anyone check on Yugi?" he asked absently.

Kaiba slammed out of the room without a word, a mobile already pressed to his ear.

"Do you know what's going on?" Bakura asked.

"Yes," Marik said, and didn't elaborate.

They stared at each other. Then Marik was surging up and Bakura leaning down and they were kissing, awkward, lips catching on teeth. Marik had one of his hands fisted in Bakura's hair. He used the grip like a leash, pulling the thief closer, licking the blood off his upper lip and nose and mouth. The other snuck down Bakura's front to palm between his legs. Bakura broke away to pant, hips thrusting up into those clever fingers. The pleasure was edged with pain and all the sweeter for it.

"Bloody hell, Marik."

Bakura groaned. He thumped his forehead against Marik's shoulder and felt the man's laughter, the sound of it shivery-good over his throat. "Can't you come back later?" he muttered at Ryou.

"Do you want your hands free, or not?" Ryou snapped.

Marik stroked a hand down one of Bakura's bound arms. Bakura swallowed the curses he was about to spew at his Other, expression turning considering.  

"Forget I asked," Ryou said, but he sounded amused. He shooed Marik away and knelt at Bakura's side instead, resolutely ignoring the rather obvious effect of Marik's attention on the thief's body. Bakura stared at the ceiling and told himself he wasn't blushing. His jaw was swelling, that's what it was.

"You punched me," he remembered.

"I woke up with you in bed next to me," Ryou said, dabbing a cotton ball extra-hard at Bakura's sore nose. Bakura kicked him in the shin, but lightly - he wasn't exactly in an opportune position for a fight at the moment. Ryou stomped on his toes with a knee and carried on, "And I wasn't alone to begin with. You're lucky Seto didn't strangle you then and there."

"Why was he," Bakura began to ask, only it dawned on him, like an avalanche. He stared at Ryou in open horror. "You're _fucking_ the _High Priest_?"

Ryou rolled his eyes. "He's not a priest in this life, Yami, high or otherwise. There," he patted Bakura's nose, making him flinch, "All done. Not broken, surprisingly, but it will be tender for a while. Limit your bedroom activities to the semi-acrobatic."

"Can't promise," Marik said. Bakura wanted to hit him, but couldn't, which had him deciding on the merits of bondage pretty fast.

"Get me out of these," he demanded.

Ryou produced a key - and tossed it at Marik. "Going out," he said, ignoring Bakura's inventive death threats, "Unlock him once we're gone. Seto's refusing to put the gun back in the safe."

"Well, he _does_ have a thief in his house," Marik said, eyes and teeth glinting.

Bakura's shoulders sagged. There went the hope of getting free anytime soon.

"Where're you going anyway?" he muttered.

"To Yugi's," Ryou replied absently. He was shrugging a jacket on - leather, studded with silver over the shoulders. Bakura stared some more. "He was too busy to talk long, but did say that Atem is back. Seto wants to go over immediately."

"Aha," Marik drawled, "And you haven't stopped him, because...?"

Ryou smiled sweetly, his eyes lit with a glint Bakura recognized from his own reflection. "I strive to be a supportive boyfriend."

Marik cackled. Ryou waved at him, wagged a finger Bakura's way in an overly condescending fashion, and disappeared. Another door slammed shut somewhere else in the apartment.

"What was that about," Bakura grumbled.

Marik was brushing tears of mirth from his face and making no move whatsoever to unlock him. "Oh, nothing. Kaiba's in for a surprise, is all." That set him off again. "Can you imagine - _his face_ \- oh Ra, I should have Ryou send me a picture!"

"Of what!" Bakura demanded, irritated at being kept out of a joke at the Priest's expense.

"Yugi was too _busy_ to talk," Marik said, and made a crude gesture with his hands.

Bakura stared at him. Malicious joy bubbling up in him in spurts. "You are kidding."

Marik shook his head, face red. "The Pharaoh finally found a way to fuck himself _."_

They howled in laughter as one. Marik rolled onto the bed at some point, hands over his stomach, heaving for breath. He ended up with his face pressed against Bakura's side. His shoulders still shook. Bakura thought it was with laughter, until his shirt grew damp, and Marik's breaths started coming out in sobs.

Shit. _Ryou_ was the sensitive one - or at least he had been; Bakura had some doubts about the leather-totting smartass his once-host had grown into. Bakura had certainly not gotten more in touch with his feelings after regaining the memories of his past life, if one didn't count homicidal inclinations, which Bakura didn't think applied at present. With his hands fettered he couldn't even pat the man's head, or punch him, or whatever it was that people did when other people cried.

Marik got himself together before Bakura was forced into talking, which Bakura thought fortunate for all parties involved. But then _Marik_ spoke, and it wasn't so good after all.

 "I missed you."

Bakura shrugged, uncomfortable. "Yeah, well. I was dead, so," he said, going for flippant, only he remembered Marik's words of earlier and the conversation turned a whole lot more interesting quick. "I _should_ be dead."

"Ryou did, as well," Marik continued, voice absent.

Bakura snorted. "Then he's dumber than I thought." He'd abused Ryou, used him, betrayed him - his Light, the half of his soul Bakura was supposed to protect at all costs. Instead, the thief had dragged Ryou down with him into the dark and then _left_ him there, to suffer, alone.

Bakura shook, from his toes to his teeth. He clenched his jaw and willed his body still. Marik was looking at him. Outside, clouds had eaten the sky. The room was dark, but Marik's eyes were clear.

No, they were _glowing_.

Bakura was off the bed before his mind could fully accept what it saw, a blind panic of _get away get away get away_ sending his body crashing into a wall. He froze there, every muscle tense and locked tight.

Marik's Darkness watched him from across the room, a panther coiled to spring.

"You're dead," Bakura growled.

Malik lifted a shoulder. "So were you. So are the gods." The Millennium Rod appeared in his hand.

Bakura stared, horror twisting his stomach - _no, not again, Anubis'_ cock _not_ again. "I won't let you out of this room." He didn't know how he'd stop  Malik now, bound, no Millennium item of his own or a duel field  between them, but he knew he'd die trying anyway.

But Malik wasn't trying to get away. The Rod dangled from his fingers, no less dangerous for swaying to some unheard tune. "My business is with you."

Bakura didn't trust him. The statement wasn't exactly comforting, either - did it matter whom the spirit carved up first, in the grand plan of things? If he could get a message to Ryou somehow... only they were no longer connected, their souls snug in their respective bodies with no links to allow travel between. Bakura tried anyway. He clawed at the darkness in his mind, called his Other's name, but heard nothing back.

He was alone.

"They did miss you," Malik said. "My other half. Your own. They wished you back. Every day, every year, without fail - ten summers in a row."

"And you're here to grant their wish, is that it?" Bakura scoffed, only Malik was nodding, grave, his poise almost regal.

"Like fuck," Bakura sneered.

Malik cocked his head to one side, reminding Bakura of a broken marionette doll he'd seen lolling in a dump once. The vacant expression on Marik's usually expressive face had the thief gritting his teeth. "Leave him _in peace_ ," he snarled, and would have launched himself at the man, bonds be damned, had he been able to move. The paralysis was an unnatural one, however, and Bakura's body refused to obey.

Malik studied him for long seconds, dispassionate in the face of Bakura's curses and the mad twitch of his limbs. "Yes," he said at last, "You have repented. You will serve." He rose then, stepped up to Bakura, and pressed the Rod to Bakura's forehead, the Eye of Anubis digging into his skin. _Light cannot stand without Dark,_ Malik spoke, only he didn't, it wasn't his voice - the words drummed in Bakura's own soul, their source something beyond power, beyond life and death - _You will protect them both, King of Thieves, and will be damned no more_.

Malik withdrew. The room dimmed, the golden glow that had painted all in sight leeching into the walls to form the hieroglyphs that lined the Pharaoh's tomb before fading away entirely. Outside, the sun shone bright in the sky.

Bakura slid to his knees. His hands were free, the cuffs broken and dangling from his wrists. He braced himself against the floor and gulped in breath after breath, feeling as if he had scaled a mountain, fallen, risen again.

There was a crash. Bakura raised his head and found the Millennium Rod in pieces, clay shards, old and weathered. He was being pulled up by the elbows. Marik stared at him - and it was Marik, eyes wide and worried, face pale, cheeks already wet with tears. Bakura darted in and kissed him, relief stinging at his own eyes.

"Are you okay?" Marik asked between urgent presses of their lips, "Did he do something to you?"

Bakura shook his head. He had. But it hadn't been Malik holding the Rod, not really, and whatever it was that He had done could only be right in the most primal sense. The darkness that filled Bakura's soul felt... orderly, somehow. Purposeful.  "I'm staying," he told Marik. "For good."

Marik laughed. The sound was pure joy, and Bakura drank it in for himself, wishing to feel its warmth. "Dibs on telling Kaiba," Marik muttered in his mouth.

"Whatever makes you happy," Bakura said, and meant it in more ways than one.

Marik drew back. He cupped Bakura's face, hand trembling, and smiled.

The sun high in the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> BONUS scene:
> 
> "Why are you so bothered, anyway?" Ryou grumbled. He sipped at his tea, studiously ignoring Seto's disbelieving glare.  
> "Don't worry, Kaiba," Bakura leered, "I've only ever been inside him in the platonic sense."  
> "Can't say the same," Marik said absently, attention on his laptop and the video game playing on the screen.  
> Bakura stared.  
> "What?" Kaiba said, voice cold enough to skate on.  
> Ryou sighed into his tea.


End file.
